


hollow-point smile

by mournful_optimist



Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Depression, F/M, Gender Dysphoria, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Illness, psychiatric hospital, referenced past suicide attempts, transgender character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 06:17:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2641241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mournful_optimist/pseuds/mournful_optimist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for the TransKobra2k14 challenge.</p>
<p>Ray's favourite colour wasn't always blue. Meeting Kobra changes that. In fact, it changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hollow-point smile

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS/POTENTIAL TRIGGERS: This fic is set in a hospital in an inpatient psychiatric ward. The POV character has severe clinical depression, including off-screen self-harm (cutting), references to past suicide attempts, dissociation, and mentioned self-harm scars. Physical restraints are used on patients. In this fic Kobra is a transgender woman who is hospitalized against her will and forced to live as male while in hospital.

~~~

 

Giving up hope doesn’t hurt as much as Ray thought it would. It doesn’t even feel like a loss. After a while, the incentive to lie just slips away, and he starts answering their questions with the truth. No, the new medication isn’t helping. Yes, he still wants to die. Yes, he’ll hurt himself if they let him go.

 

He takes up residence in the sitting area in front of the nurses’ station, where it’s easier for them to watch him every moment. It’s not like it makes any difference to him where he spends the empty hours between sleep and more sleep.

 

At bedtime, he holds still while they strap him down with cuffs at his wrists and ankles. Letting himself be restrained is a lot easier than fighting. Ray quickly loses track of the time that passes, lets himself get caught up in the rhythm of his routine – the couch, the therapy room, the couch, the bed. He wonders if he’s forgotten how to speak, or if he just doesn’t have anything to say.

 

Change comes all at once in the form of an unconscious, skinny, sunburned girl. They wheel her in on a gurney, still in outside clothing that’s covered in bright reds and yellows and dirt. Her long wavy hair is dyed electric blue. Ray has never seen so much colour in his life. He only gets a brief glimpse as the orderlies roll her past him, but the image stays trembling in his minds eye long afterward.

 

For the first time in as long as Ray can remember, he’s curious.

 

~~~

 

He loses track of the time between that moment and the next time he sees her. Everything in between is irrelevant anyway. But walking into the common bathroom and seeing her there definitely gets his attention. Ray holds still in the doorway, breath caught. They’ve scrubbed her clean and sheared off her hair into a short dull-brown halo. She’s wearing the same grey drawstring pants as all the other patients, but no shirt. Dr. Patton is with her, holding her by the shoulders so tightly that Ray can see the red marks forming where his fingernails are biting into her skin. He’s forcing her to look into the long shatterproof mirror behind the sinks. “Look, Michael. Look at yourself. You are not a woman. This is not what a woman’s body looks like,” Dr. Patton is saying.

 

Ray doesn’t understand. Can’t Dr. Patton _see_ her? Sure, her body is thin and angular, no breasts to speak of and no curve to her hips. She has an Adam’s apple, and stubble forming along her sharp jawline. But though her face is determinedly blank her eyes are desperate and pained. There’s no way she'd be so upset if what Dr. Patton is saying was true. Ray has heard the stories about how cruel Dr. Patton can be to his patients. Immediately, completely, Ray fucking hates this guy. “Excuse me,” Ray says loudly, and walks into the room. He picks the urinal closest to where Dr. Patton is standing and – as obviously and impolitely as possible – whips it out and starts to take a piss. And while he does so, Ray whistles the most obnoxious tune he can come up with on the spot.

 

Dr. Patton looks so annoyed that Ray almost laughs, but the plan works: he stalks out, grumbling something about resuming their session later on.

 

Ray finishes up quickly – he doesn’t actually want this extremely pretty stranger to see him piss – and focuses on his hands while he washes them. His face feels hot, he’s probably blushing.

 

“Uh, thanks,” she says quietly. She’s pulled a shirt on and is shifting her weight awkwardly from hip to hip. “That was good of you. I’m Mikey.”

 

“Hi,” Ray mumbles, turning away from her to grab some paper towels. “I’m Ray. I promise I don’t usually pee in front of women?” He covers his eyes with a still-damp hand, wishing he hadn’t said that last part out loud.

 

Mikey snorts. It's adorable. “I’ll take your word for it, you seem like a nice guy, coming to my rescue and all.” She pauses a moment. “You just called me a woman.”

 

“Oh, should I not? Sorry. Is there a term you like better?”

 

He turns, and finds Mikey staring at him in complete, open-mouthed disbelief. “No, no, woman is fine. You do realize this is a Better Living sponsored hospital, right? Saying I’m female is technically a crime.”

 

Ray tosses the paper towel in the garbage and holds out his hands, palm-up, so she can see the thick scars criss-crossing up his wrists and inner forearms. They’re all different, some old and white, others still angry-red. “I have all the evidence I'd need for an insanity defense,” he says bluntly. “I can say whatever I want. Why not use that power to be a decent human being?"

 

Mikey smiles at him. It’s just a small thing at first, but it slowly grows wider, brighter, until Ray can feel the warmth of it penetrate down to his bones. He doesn’t know what to do in the face of a smile like that, except smile back.

 

~~~

 

When morning comes and they unstrap his restraints, Ray still can’t move. Every cell in his body aches. The world is blurred out at the edges, so hollow he thinks he can hear it echo. He shuts his eyes and tries to breathe through it, but the air is so thick in his lungs he feels like he’s drowning in it.

 

The bed dips by Ray’s hip, and he struggles his eyes open to see Mikey perched there. She’s the only thing he can see in colour – pinks and golds and browns when everything else is in greyscale. “You can’t get up, can you?” she asks softly. “That’s okay. My brother used to get like this sometimes, after our grandmother died. Do you want me to leave you alone?”

 

Ray can’t move to answer, he’s too lost, but he hopes. He hopes that she’ll just know he wants her there. It must work, somehow, because she doesn't go anywhere.

 

Ray drifts on the fog inside his head, and he must fall asleep at some point, because when he surfaces there’s a warm weight along the right side of his body. Mikey’s lying half on top of Ray, her fingertips tracing designs on his shirt that he can't quite feel through the fabric. Her short fluffy hair is tickling his cheek.

 

Ray swallows to clear his throat, and Mikey pushes up onto one elbow, staring at him with her steady, discerning gaze. “I got tired and you're comfy. Want me to move?”

 

It’s not easy, but Ray manages to mumble, “Stay.”

 

And, like magic, she does.

 

~~~

 

He wakes gasping from a nightmare that fades away so fast he can’t grasp what it is that’s scared him. He lies still, feeling his heart beating too fast and too hard. He supposes it’s better something woke him. For all he knows he might have slept for years. Ray’s joints feel creaky and stiff, his limbs obey him only reluctantly, but he can move again. There’s nowhere interesting to go, but he feels the urge to stretch his legs, so he gets up and walks the length of the ward a couple of times.

 

After the dimness of the hallway at night, the bathroom fluorescents arrest him for a moment, forcing him to blink hard through the transition. When he’s adjusted he shuffles forward again, then pauses for a different reason.

 

Mikey’s sitting in the corner on the floor, legs sprawled out before her carelessly. Her eyes are open but she’s staring at nothing. She looks sickly in the harsh light, shadows under her eyes and her skin so pale it appears translucent.

 

“Are you okay?” Ray’s voice sounds too loud in the near-empty room, but Mikey barely reacts, only her eyes moving to gauge Ray’s location.

 

“You came back to life,” Mikey comments flatly.

 

“I guess so,” Ray says. He goes to her and sits nearby, deliberately leaving a gap between them just in case. He’s spent long enough in psych wards to have seen plenty of patients in various states of distress. He’d never risk touching someone without knowing first if it was okay. “Is there anything I – can I help you?”

 

When Mikey doesn’t answer, Ray wonders if maybe she can’t, if they’ve traded places and now she’s the one who’s lost. He’s relieved when she shifts her position, surprised when she reaches out and wraps her cool fingers around Ray’s wrist. “Everyone here calls me _Michael_ , and _he_ , and _him_. That isn't who I am. I'm Mikey. I'm a girl, I've always been a girl, but no one here will believe me." She sounds exhausted.

 

"I believe you," Ray says. "You say you're a girl, and you're the one who would know."

 

With her free hand, Mikey rubs at her cheek, where scruffy facial hair is beginning to grow in. “Most people think it’s impossible, y’know. Better Living teaches it to kids in schools now, that transgender people are just pretending. And all the doctors here believe it, they think that because I was born male I have to live like that or else I'm crazy. They keep telling me to _face up to my biological reality_ , like I’m fucking delusional. That’s why they won’t let me shave, why they chopped off my hair. Gee – that’s my brother – he’s gonna be fuckin’ pissed about that. He worked really hard getting it blue enough.”

 

“I thought the blue was really pretty,” Ray offers. He never liked the colour blue all that much, but after seeing it on Mikey, he's changing his opinion.

 

Mikey sighs heavily, her expression softening into something more wistful. “Yeah. It’s dumb to miss it, but, yeah. Pretty isn’t something I get to have that often.”

 

“What?” Ray’s half-sure she’s going to slap his hand away, but she turns _into_ his touch, lets him trace his thumb along the soft bow of her lips. “Look at you. You don’t need anything to be pretty. You’re beautiful – fuck, you’re _wonderful_.”

 

Mikey releases her grip on his wrist, and Ray thinks he must have said it wrong, he’s never been great at expressing himself. Then she takes his face in both hands and kisses him. It’s brief, she pulls away before Ray is ready for it to end. “Is this okay with you?” Mikey breathes.

 

Ray isn’t sure if he’s ever been kissed before. He’s lost so much time, so much memory, from all the drugs and the ECT and the unsubstantial nature of hospital life. All he can be sure he knows is, “Yes. Please.”

 

"I think I like you, Ray," Mikey murmurs, and she kisses him again, and again.

 

~~~

 

In all his indeterminate time spent on the ward, Ray has never had the energy or inclination to explore. Mikey is different. She takes him by the hand and shows him the secret spots she’s already discovered. They sit and talk for hours in the sunny corner furthest from the nurses' station. In the funny little alcove where they're hard to see from the hallway, Ray naps with his head in Mikey's lap while she people-watches and plays with his hair. His favourite by far is the chronically-unlocked supply closet where they can wedge themselves in behind shelves full of bandages and sheets, and be alone. They can’t stay too long, because Ray is still on suicide watch and has to be monitored frequently, but they can catch private moments together.

 

Ray’s lips are tingling by the time she pulls back from their kiss. Ray catches her hand as she draws it back out of his hair, holds it to his face. “I don't want to go back yet,” he murmurs into her skin.

 

“We’ll get caught,” Mikey points out apologetically.

 

He kisses her palm, and notices that she has a tattoo on the inside of her right wrist. It’s a yellow and red pill with an X underneath, surrounded by a circle. “What’s this?” Ray asks, tracing the circle with a fingertip.

 

The corner of Mikey’s mouth quirks up into a small smile. “Oh, that’s for Gee. We have symbols in the ‘Zones, call signs we can leave if we want to show we’ve been somewhere. Out there we call him Party Poison. He has mine in the same spot, they call me the Kobra Kid. His partner’s is on the other side.”

 

Ray takes her other hand in his, and checks her inner wrist – it’s blank. “You don’t have a partner?”

 

Mikey shrugs. “Not yet. I don't like that many people.”

 

He hates the insecurity in his own voice when he asks, "But you like me?"

 

"No, I'm hiding in a closet for the third time today so I can kiss you because I don't like you at all. I don't think you're sweet and I absolutely did not have a sexual dream last night about rubbing off on one of your gorgeous thighs." No one does deadpan and sarcastic like Mikey can. Ray grins like a fool for the rest of the day.

 

~~~

 

It hurts everywhere. He knows he did something, harmed himself somehow, but they’ve drugged him since then and now the world is dull and indistinct. The pain is everywhere, too diffuse to identify a source. He sees Mikey standing near the bed and tries to reach out, but of course he’s restrained again.

 

She comes closer, grabs a tissue from the box by the bed and starts wiping at Ray’s cheeks. He must have been crying, he supposes. He tries to tell her she’s sorry, but she shushes him. “You can’t control it, Ray. Don’t be sorry for something you can’t control.” Mikey says it like it’s just a fact, nothing to be ashamed of.

 

But Ray is ashamed of everything he’s ever done or been. He’s nothing, and Mikey… Mikey is _everything_ , so strong and beautiful and funny and kind. She shouldn’t be touching him. He squeezes his eyes shut because he doesn’t deserve to see her.

 

He cries some more. He can’t help it.

 

He feels Mikey’s hand stroking through his hair, her deft fingers picking out the tangles. “You should’ve been in a band. This is rockstar hair, I can totally picture you up on a stage, headbanging. That would be so fucking cool.” He can hear the smile in her voice as she moves to sit on the edge of the bed. She doesn’t stop petting him, and he’s grateful for it. “My friend thinks there’s all these alternate universes, all the possible worlds happening at once. I guess that means somewhere you are a rockstar. I’m guessing guitar? Maybe drums, though. You have good shoulders for it. Do drummers headbang?”

 

Mikey keeps talking to him until a nurse orders her back to her own room for lights-out. Without her words to distract him, Ray tells himself the story of the alternate universe where he and Mikey are in a band together. He imagines himself playing guitar, with Mikey across the stage from him, a bass in her hands, that small almost-secret smile on her face. He casts her brother as the singer, even though he knows almost nothing about the infamous Gee except that he has bright red hair and he’s Mikey’s hero. Ray figures Gee must be awesome, if he’s so good to Mikey, always accepting her, protecting her, helping her dye her hair bright blue just because it made her feel pretty. Those are good traits for a leader, so he makes Gee the frontman. Ray doesn’t know anything else about their gang except that Gee’s partner is a good dude who Mikey likes a lot. Ray considers whether he’d play rhythm guitar, or maybe drums? Ray falls asleep before he can decide.

 

~~~

 

Spooning up behind Mikey in her bed, her back pressed to his chest and his arms wrapped firmly around her, is amazingly comfortable. The nurses can see them both when they make their rounds of bed-checks, and the disapproving looks are worth it for the chance to spend whole afternoons relatively uninterrupted. It’s not officially allowed for patients to have close relationships, but it keeps Ray awake and alert more of the time, and Mikey hasn’t punched any orderlies or nurses for forcing her to take her meds lately, so the staff leaves them alone for the most part.

 

Ray kisses the nape of Mikey’s neck, inhaling the scent of her. The hospital smells of plastic and antiseptic, but Mikey smells alive. “I love you,” he blurts, unable to contain the words inside himself any longer.

 

Mikey shifts in his arms, turning to face him. She kisses him firmly, but her expression is somber. “I’m not going to be here much longer,” she whispers.

 

He frowns, confused. He takes her lead and drops his voice as quiet as possible to avoid being overheard by staff or other patients. “They’ll never let you out unless you pretend you’re a guy. I honestly don’t see you pulling that off, Mikey.”

 

She flashes him a quick tight smile. “I’m going to take that as a compliment, so thanks. But I don’t need them to let me out. I’m just gonna… go.”

 

“How?” Ray asks, disbelieving.

 

Mikey checks over her shoulder just in case, before moving in even closer to Ray until their foreheads are touching. “I was in two other psych wards when I was a teenager. Gee broke me out both times, he can do it again. It's just taking longer this time because we got arrested together, and I'm the only one who qualifies as insane, so he had to figure a way out of jail first.”

 

He doesn’t ask her how she’s going to escape, or how she’s been communicating with her brother when she’s not allowed phone calls or visitors. It's probably naive of him to think of Mikey as if she's a superhero, but to him, she sort of is one. All he asks is, “When?”

 

She shrugs one shoulder. “I’m not sure. Soon.”

 

“Oh.”

 

They lie in silence for a while, arms around each other, sharing breath. He hasn't had Mikey in his life for very long, but Ray already can barely imagine living without her. It hurts just to think about it, so he tries not to. He just holds her while he can.

 

~~~

 

When he shakes her shoulder, Mikey jerks awake abruptly, looking around the room wild-eyed and tense. When she sees it’s just Ray, she glares at him. “What the fuck? You’re supposed to be restrained,” she whispers fiercely.

 

“I can get out when I want to. Come on.” Ray takes her hand and pulls her along.

 

They make it to their makeout closet without being caught, and Ray stuffs a sheet under the door before clicking the light on. Mikey is still staring at him, her eyes wide. They go even wider when he withdraws the contents of his pockets: a straight-razor, some needles, and a handful of ballpoint pens.

 

“How the hell did you get all that? You’re on suicide watch, they won’t even give you a plastic fork!” Mikey hisses.

 

Ray rolls his eyes. “Do you think they gave me a tool kit before I attempted suicide all those times? I know how to steal, okay. You said you’re leaving soon.”

 

“Yes,” Mikey admits cautiously.

 

“I forget things. I lose memories, I lose time… I don't know if it's the drugs, the ECT, or just my fucked-up brain. Honestly, it never mattered that much to me. I didn't really have anything worth remembering. But now there's you. I don't want to ever be able to lose you, so I want you to give me your Kobra Kid symbol.” Ray says in a rush, holding his supplies out for Mikey to take. “I read that this is what you need for a homemade tattoo.”

 

By this point Ray is used to waiting for Mikey to process information a while before speaking. When she’s ready, she takes the supplies out of Ray’s hands. “Traditionally a partner’s symbol would go on your left wrist,” she tells him softly, taking his hand and tracing her thumb over the spot.

 

Ray’s wrists have the worst of his scarring. He doesn’t know if it’s possible to tattoo over scars like his, and he doesn’t particularly want to call attention to them anyway. “Fuck tradition. Pick somewhere else,” he says.

 

“Promise me you’re completely sure about this,” Mikey says seriously.

 

“I promise.”

 

She nods to herself, once, decisively. “Okay. You better sit down.”

 

There’s not a lot of space in their closet, but there’s enough. Ray sits on the floor against the wall, and for Mikey kneels, straddling his lap. Ray’s breath comes quick and shallow while Mikey pulls his shirt off. Physically they haven’t gotten this far yet. Maybe that’s what Ray should have been focusing on, getting a chance to make love with Mikey before she’s gone. He wants to, of course. He wants to uncover her, touch her, taste her skin – but as much as he desires her, they’re not ready, and rushing it would be worse than never having it. So he steadfastly ignores the stirring of his dick while she carefully shaves off a patch of his chest hair the size of her fist, right over his heart.

 

The tattooing hurts, of course, but Ray doesn’t mind too much. He watches Mikey while she works: the way she chews at her lips while she concentrates, her long calloused fingers holding the needle steadily, how delicately lovely her eyelashes are. He thinks she must be the prettiest girl in the world.

 

When she’s finished, she tucks the sharps into her own pocket. “Sorry. It’s just in case,” she says. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

 

“Thank you,” he says, gesturing to his new tattoo. “For this, and for caring about me.”

 

Mikey makes a small wounded sound and grabs Ray by his hair, kissing him hard and long and passionate. “I love you, Ray. Okay? I don’t just care about you. I love you. I even thought about bringing you with me when I go, but… I think you need to stay. I don’t belong here, but you, you’re really sick, Ray, and your treatments do work sometimes, and you’d never get that out in the zones. I could protect you from a lot of shit out there, but not from your own brain. Maybe if you stay, you can get better.”

 

Ray wipes a tear off her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I will. I promise I’ll work hard.”

 

“I hope so. You don’t deserve to be in pain, Ray,” Mikey says insistently.

 

He can't say he agrees with her, because he doesn’t want to lie, so he just tells her he loves her and promises again that he'll try to get better. She wraps him up in a firm hug and presses her face into his neck. “Love you,” she mumbles, her breath hot and damp against his skin. “I wanna take care of you, but I just can’t.”

 

Ray knows better than to think the love of a good woman can cure him. He’s going to have to fight like hell to get healthy. Mikey can’t heal him, but he feels a little stronger just for having known her, and that’s something.

 

~~~

 

All too soon, Ray wakes up one morning to alarms and the staff rushing around frantically. The intercom system keeps buzzing with updates about the search for a missing patient. Ray waits, but no one comes to undo his restraints, and he has a crick in his neck, so after a while he slips out on his own. He doubts anyone will notice anyway amidst all the commotion.

 

When he adjusts his pillow, he hears the crinkle of paper underneath it. He lifts it up and finds a piece of craft paper with a sketch on it in blue ink – a symbol surrounded by a circle, a cartoon star with a face and a little lightning bolt hitting it. When he turns the page over, there’s a note scrawled in untidy handwriting.

 

_When a new member joins the Killjoys, whoever invites them into the crew gets to name them. I believe you’re going to get better, and we'll see each other again someday, so I’m naming you in advance: Jet Star. Jet Star and the Kobra Kid sounds good, don’t you think? To find me you'll need the symbol I drew for you - if you ever make it out to the zones, paint that on any wall in zone one. I promise I'll see it._

_In the meantime, don’t die._

_Always,_

_M_

 

Ray folds the note carefully and tucks it into his pocket. Jet Star and the Kobra Kid sounds perfect to him.

 

When the time comes, Ray will paint his symbol in blue.

 

~~~


End file.
